Wake Up People...This Won't Last Forever

The thing about history is that we don't appreciate it until it is...well, history.

I hit my teens in the '70s. I was a rabid Cowboys' fan almost from birth. (My crazy uncles saw to that.) But like nearly everyone else, I failed to appreciate what I had.

Then came the '80s. I lived in northern California from '84 to '91. Oh, the suffering! The Cowboys did not log a single win against a California team during that time. Heck, they didn't record many wins at all. Meanwhile, the lowly forty-niners had found Montana in their box of crackerjacks and were busy tattooing their own logo on the hindquarters of history.

That was when the greatness of those late sixties and seventies Cowboys' teams were put into perspective for me.

Fast-forward to the nineties. Same song, second verse.

And now we have these Mavs. These Mavs, for whom a fifty-win season is common fare. These Mavs, for whom sixty wins is almost a given. These Mavs, who just keep winning and winning and winning...

Sixty wins in an eighty-four game season is not to be taken lightly, folks. And the prospect of seventy? Preposterous! Stupendous!

We can quibble over the owner's penchant for complaining into the spotlight. We can fret over last year's meltdown in the Finals. We can worry about Nash and Duncan. We can lament the reluctance of the nation to adore our darlings. Or...

We can enjoy the ride. We can appreciate that we have a seat on the snazziest bandwagon going. The ride won't last forever. These things are cyclical. But for now, this bandwagon is rolling into history.

All aboard!

Cuban's Missile Crisis

I have struggled for a long time with this question: Is Mark Cuban a genius businessman, in the vein of so many self-made billionaires, or is he the luckiest damned geek who ever lived? Is he just the computer nerd his hairstyle and twisted logic suggest? Is he crazy? Is he crazy like a fox?

One thing is sure: He can be annoying.

I have defended Cuban in these pages several times. I have lauded his success as an NBA owner. I have called out the Galloways and Bondys of the world for their incessant criticisms of the man.

But now comes word that Cuban's Internet movie company, Magnolia, is set to distribute a re-tooled verions of the controversial piece of trash called "Loose Change." This is the movie the Bushwhackers and conspiracy theorists love to tout. This is the movie that strings together a dubious chain of "evidence" to suggest that 9/11 was an inside job, that Bush and his cronies in a vast (and vast would be an understatement) conspiracy actually pulled off the attacks of 9/11 to give little George a reason to go finish the job on Saddam that big George started.

The suggestion is not just aberrant; it is abhorrant. It is dispicable. It is disgusting. It is a slap in the face to the American government, the thousands who died and/or lost loved ones on 9/11, and the subsequent thousands of American soldiers who have put themselves in harm's way.
Cuban may have some level of genius in him. But his decision to align himself in any way with this film proves unequivocally that he has no concept of the reality of public perception or the damage he may do his own cause as owner of the Dallas Mavericks.

It seems, with his failed reality show, his constant outcries, his frequent odd statements (remember, he said the Kobe rape thing would be "good" for the NBA), and his sundry ways of keeping himself in the news, that the man is an attention whore.

Well, he is bound to get some attention from this.

(Sigh.) Go, Mavs.

(See Mark Davis' opinion piece on the subject here.)

Is He Really All That? We'll See...

Somewhere there is a thin, nearly-invisible, not always discernible line between confident and cocky. The new Rangers' skipper dances all over it. To hear him talk, he is a baseball man par excellence, a players' manager, a winner, and just what the doctor ordered for an anemic club that has spent the past four years being brow-beaten by the Buckaroo.

This is the time when expectations are set. It is certainly necessary to set the bar high. We want the team manager to be positive, upbeat, demanding, and expectant. Ron Washington has certainly been all of those things...and more. In his radio and TV interviews he has not been one bit hesitant to tout his abilities as a baseball man. He has done everything but say he "floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee."

I like what I hear from him...with slight reservations. I keep remembering how my daddy taught me the concept of "under-sell and over-deliver." It's a solid philosophy, too. No one (with the possible exception of Jimmy Johnson) ever got run out of town for exceeding expectations. Plenty have seen their careers end prematurely or had to take their show on the road because they couldn't deliver.

The Rangers' organization has chronically under-delivered. Only one manager in their history ever took this team to the playoffs. Now we have this rookie manager selling himself pretty hard. But the proof will be in the pudding. The product he puts on the field will ultimately confirm or disprove his genius.

I am tired. I am tired of the promise of Spring fading into the harsh reality of Fall. I am tired of giving up on baseball as soon as Cowboys' training camp starts. I am tired of ho-hum teams and so-so seasons. And I am ready to believe. I am ready to buy into the swagger of a man who believes in himself.

Washington wowed Hicks and Daniels. They put all their baseballs in this guy's basket.
Here's hoping they didn't lay an egg. Here's hoping he really is all that...and a bag of chips.

Spags Fawns Over Woody

When your check is cut by Jerry Jones, you don't have to be a homer, but you have to enjoy home cooking. Mickey Spagnola certainly does. His Cowboys-tinted glasses makes the football field all silver and blue. Anyone who has read his columns or listened to his "Ranch Reports" on the Ticket knows that.

That's ok with us. We're homers too. We know it. We admit. We love it.

We also love the love the Mick gives Darren Woodson in his recent dallascowboys.com column. Without specifically calling Roy Williams out or overtly pointing the finger at the Parcells regime and yelling, "Dumbass!", Spags remembers the halcyon days when free safeties were interchangeable around here...all because of the versatility and football prowess of the great Darren Woodson.

You know the old adage about not knowing what you have until you don't anymore? Truth be told, we are all guilty of falling into that trap. These past couple of years, we have all known there was something missing in that Cowboys' secondary.

Mickey reminds us...it's not a what, it's a who.

Safe Bet!

If this first big personnel move is any indication, you have to believe Dallas Cowboys Coach Wade Phillips is on the right track. Ken Hamlin is a good addition to this team. They got him with a close-to-the-vest, show-us-what-you-got, one-year deal.

Hamlin was having a great 2005 campaign before suffering an off-the-field injury. He came back in 2006 and was second on the Seahawks defense in tackles, while shutting down nearly 70% of the passes thrown in his direction. He will have the opportunity to prove he can be the kind of safety his history suggests, while providing Pat Watkins with the incentive to step up and declare the position his own.

This was an obvious area of grave concern and a glaring weakness in the Cowboys' 2006 campaign. Good play at free safety will directly impact Roy Williams, giving him the opportunity to play closer to the line, where his true impact ability lies.

This signing is no-risk, all reward.

I feel better already.

Vern Is Still My Guy

The best thing to me about the North Texas vs. Memphis opening-round game was not that UNT was in the tourney for just the second time in school histroy. It wasn't even that they represented themselves well, fought hard, and did some promising things on the court. (How's that for generic sports talk?)

The best thing about that game was Vern Lundquist. Once again, he reminded us all of why America's gain twenty-odd years ago (or was it thirty?) was DFW's loss. Some of us are grizzled enough to remember when the best sports anchor in this burg was really the best.
While his eventual replacement at WFAA, Dale Hansen, was patting himself on the back for being so much better than Scott "Sports-Cliche Machine-Gun" Murray, Lundquist was establishing himself as one of America's most reliable and endearing, though understated, national sports broadcasters.

Vern and Dale are polar opposites. Vern is unassuming. He doesn't constantly remind you who he is. He comes across as a friend. He is the kind of guy you want to see do well. Dale, on the other hand, comes across as a blow-hard, egocentric, overrated empty suit. Vern is a local legend; Dale is a legend in his own mind...not to mention a grown-up version of a middle-school brat. (See the recent incident where he gets pissed at John McCaa for stealing his thunder and shoots the wheels off the newscast.)

Don't get me wrong, here. Both have talent. Dale is an enormously talented communicator (at least on TV; he pretty much makes my ears bleed on the radio.) In fact, I used to listen to Dale exclusively during the 10 O'clock news hour. But then somewhere along the line, he started believing the numbers and the press. Dale decided that he was actually the story and whatever news he was delivering was a mere platform on which he could stand and shine for all the world (or at least DFW) to ogle.

Before NBC 5 finally grew a brain and put Scott Murray out to pasture, Dale used to love to compare himself to Murray, which was roughly the equivalent of a college professor laughing at a retarded kid after he kicked his ass in a spelling bee. Maybe all this time, Dale should have been comparing himself to his predecessor. Maybe, just maybe, if he had been half the professional Vern has been...half the gentleman...he would still have his gig as color analyst for the Cowboys, he never would have had the crap scared out of him in that famous shoulder-punching interview with Barry Switzer, and he wouldn't be so bitter.

In the meltdown mentioned a couple paragraphs ago, Dale asked, "Why am I here?"
Um, because Vern isn't? Because there is no justice in the world? Because Dallas is really Purgatory?

Your guess is as good as mine.

New York Writer Blasts Cuban.... YAWNNNNN!

The reading of the Filip Bondy article from the New York Daily News across local airwaves today may be generating a lot more heat than light. Bondy's article, titled "Cuban Is No-Rings Boss" is pretty much dead-on, but devious, and possibly destructive, nonetheless.
Bondy manages to draw a couple of Mavericks offside, namely Stackhouse and Jason Terry:
...If you talk to the players, they don't sound so thrilled with the man. Cuban has hijacked the national headlines. Sometimes it seems he is doing so at the expense of Nowitzki and his teammates. He is like George Steinbrenner, when The Boss was younger and at his Bossiest. A couple of the Mavericks worry that Cuban is coloring the perception of this team. Whenever Cuban screams about a call, the players somehow end up sounding like the chronic complainers.
"We don't want to give people the impression we're a whining team," Jerry Stackhouse says. "(Cuban) can be a distraction if you look at it that way. He's always going to be like that. He's not speaking for us. He's just like the fan in the 10th row. Some things are out of our control. Sometimes it does carry over.
We made a conscious decision as a team to lay off the refs."
Cuban will be there again tonight, fussing and screaming. Does the owner cost the Mavs a free throw or two?
"You get on somebody long enough, they're going to have a reaction," Jason Terry says.'

These aren't new revelations. Dirk had already, a good while back, suggested maybe Mark sit down and shut up. The players know the deal. In so many ways, Cuban is a great owner...among the best. He reaches into those deep pockets and spends the money necessary to put a talented, contending team on the floor. He gets emotionally attached, not just to his club, but to his players.
And, he's a flake.
Big deal! Give me a flaky, whiny, over-cheering, blame-shifting, ref-bashing, Stern-hating, national embarrassment Cuban over anything we have ever had in the Mav's owner's box in the past.
If the Mavs were cellar-dwellers no one would care what Cuban or his kids were doing. But they aren't. They are an elite team vying for a championship. So, everything is magnified. Their flaws, their quirks, as well as their obvious on-court dominance.
Look, I didn't grow up hating the Yankees because of Steinbrenner. Heck, I didn't even know who he was. I hated those damned Yankees because they were everything my Rangers never were. Namely, winners. Maybe New Yorkers hate it that the Mavs do what they do with flaky Cuban while their city-slickin' Knicks bring up the rear.
Why on the blessed earth would we in Dallas/Fort Worth allow national (read that, New York) perception to dictate how we feel about our teams or their owners? They don't live here. They don't want our teams to win. They still hold the whole damn lot of us accountable for JFK, for crying out loud. Does Cuban cost us a free throw? Give me a break! If he brings us a title, that is a small price to pay.

Pete's Rose-Colored Glasses

Some folks just don't get it. They think all you have to do to receive forgiveness, absolution, a second chance is change your story. Change your story, people change their minds about you, that changes your public image, and voila! All is well. That is how the deluded minds of the chronically deceptive work.

So, Pete Rose, the man everybody loves to hate, the evil baseball devil himself, tells Dan Patrick that he bet "every night" on the Cincinnatti Reds. John Dowd, the investigator who toppled the former baseball great's house of cards responded to Rose's latest confession:

"He did not always bet to win. And when he didn't bet on the Reds, he sent a
signal to the bookmakers to bet to lose.
"I have no idea what he's doing.
Who knows, this guy? He spends almost 15 years calling me a liar, then writes a
sorry-ass book that admits what's in my report. Now the report is right. Well,
glad to hear it."

Hey, Pete, public perception is fluid and not always accurate. It is also impossible to control. It may be manipulated, but no one can absolutely guarantee that today's hero won't be tomorrow's goat. That is why the focus of the guilty should be introspective. Look inside yourself. See what is wrong in your attitude, actions, and words...and make a conscious effort to change. Maybe people see the change, public opinion turns in your favor, and you regain the respect you lost. Or...maybe not. But at least you have made yourself a better you...and you can live with that. Can't you?

That Dowd dude is too close to the fire anyway. Forgiveness isn't likely to ever be forthcoming from him. He has been too "wounded," too "offended." Who cares? No one will ever have universal appeal. No one.

The older I get and the more things I find I have to regret and change, the less inclined I am to believe in the whole concept of human forgiveness anyway. That old saying, "to err is human; to forgive is divine," is more than a little accurate. I don't think we mere claypots have it in us to truly forgive. Some little part of us will always hold onto the offence. We will keep the information stored for later. We expect to someday say, "Aha! I knew it! You are a dirty rotten bastard!"

It's the Pharisee syndrome. "Hey, look at how good I am compared to ol' so-and-so."
Maybe that is the only real service Pete Rose will ever be able to offer the world now: the chance for us to look at how overtly corrupt he is and feel better about ourselves.

Jaded? A little. But pretty dead-on. So, the point here is this: Rose should forget about trying to weasel his way back into the good graces of the baseball gods (aka, the fans and media), and focus on himself. If he looks himself in the mirror and likes what he sees, he will have to settle for that. The rest is out of his control anyway.

There was a 1981 TV movie that starred Mickey Rooney as a mentally challenged man named Bill. I will never forget the sincere earnestness in his voice when he said, "I just want to be a regular good man." Why is it that the Pete Roses of the world aspire to be famous, wealthy, loved, accepted, but miss the whole point of just being human?

Pete, baby, You don't have to always be right. But always be real...and willing to change what needs changing.

That's really all anyone can ask.

Where's The Love?

You may not be a MFFL (Mavs Fan For Life), but if you aren't at least a MFFN (Mavs Fan For Now), get your head checked.

We haven't seen a team this dominant in Dallas since...well, since forever. Not even the great Cowboys teams of the 70s and early 90s enjoyed this kind of regular season dominance. By going 51-5 in the last fifty-six games, your (or at least MY) Dallas Mavericks have done what no North American professional sports franchise has ever done before. Ever! They haven't witnessed anything like this in New York, Los Angeles, Boston, Montreal or Pittsburg. These are the facts. They are indisputable.

But turn on Sportscenter tonight. Pick up a copy of SI. Visit any of the major Internet sports sites. And tell me, please, tell me...where's the love? If this were happening in New York or LA or Chicago or any place Mark Cuban isn't in the mix, it would be the biggest story in sports. But it isn't. It's happening right down there at the American Airlines Center. It's happening to the only Cuban, other than Castro, currently known to loathe Miami.

That same Cuban is the primary reason the country hasn't fallen in love with his high-flying, hard-working, world-beating Mavs. When you play the underdog as vociferously as Cuban and the Mavs have for so many years, you just aren't going to be anybody's favorite frontrunner. When media types and basketball fans from around the country think of the Mavericks, they think, "Yeah. Bunch o' whiners."

Remember Duane Wade taking Nowitzki to task for saying the Mavs lost last year's finals, rather than giving the credit to Wade and the Heat for storming back and closing the deal? Remember Cuban responding by saying he really enjoyed watching Wade shoot free throws? That's the language of a loser, man. Blame it on the refs. Blame it on the commish. Blame it on...somebody, anybody but me.

Cuban and his charges would do well to go to the Paul Brown school of sports communication. Brown famously said, "When you win, say nothing. When you lose, say less." Just shut up and play!

At least the little general has the right idea. Avery Johnson won't let his boys rest on their laurels. He only lauds their achievement reluctantly. He finds reason and room for improvement. He says, basically, "Just wait. None of this means anything until we've won the championship.

General Johnson is right.

The only way the Mavs will ever have the national respect they deserve is to get back to the Finals and finish what they started. Win it all and there will be a windfall.

But you don't have to wait for that to happen to jump on the bandwagon. It's already loaded and rolling. All aboard!

MFFN? Durn tootin'.

Birds of a Feather

When the word came down that Bill Parcells was retiring and getting the heck outta Dodge, no one was more openly celebratory than local sports anchor/radio personality/community icon Dale Hansen. On channel 8 that night, Dale exulted, "Ding Dong, the witch is dead!"

Crazy thing is they could be brothers...or at least alter egos. Ego, of course, is the key word: there was never enough room in any room Bill was in for more than one. And that had to rub Dale the wrong way. After all, wasn't he accustomed to being the crowned prince of local sports media types? Shouldn't he get exclusive one-on-one interviews? Shouldn't he be "in the loop?" He's Dale, by God, by God!

But ol' Bill didn't care about any of that. If Dale wanted to ask a question or, better still, make a statement and end it with a question mark so it almost passes for a question, he'd just have to do like the rest of the locals and show up for the Big Bill Show, held regularly at Valley Ranch.
But would Dale ever sit there with the rest of the rabble and clamor for the spotlight? Never! He's Dale.

Both Bill and Dale act as if the Cowboys were nothing before they got here. They act as if the storied franchise is nothing more than a platform upon which they can park their royal butts. Bill talks and acts as if he invented football and coaching. Dale acts as if he is the story, as if anybody would give a hoot what he had to say if he wasn't talking about things and people the masses care about.

I, for one, am glad the Cowboys never won a playoff game under the man Mike Riner accurately pegged as "The New Jersey Conman." One has the distinct impression that if he had won a Super Bowl here, the story would have been how the Cowboys became a part of his legacy, rather than he a part of theirs. Give me a break!

The guy knows football and football talent and X's and O's. No one is arguing that. He has a proven formula. Give him that, too. But his false humility is just arrogance at its worst. His combative, belittling exchanges with reporters who were by and large just doing their jobs and asking, for the most part, legitimate questions were another way of getting his sound bytes on ESPN. Which is where he is now. Which he should have never left. Which is good enough for him.
I am glad he's gone. The only thing that would have made his departure better is if he had carried Dale Hansen under one arm and Randy Galloway under the other when he left.
Galloway? That's another story.

The Witch may be dead. But what about the Ding Dong?

Galloway is Right? The End Must Be Near

In a recent column, Galloway pointed out just how inept Dallas' so-called city leadership has been when it comes to dealing with just about everything sports-related. We could just say everything, period.

Galloway points out:

"The politicians over there (in Dallas) spent two years haggling with Jerry
about a stadium deal that never got off the table.
Arlington city leaders
got it done in two weeks."

Galloway admitted to having made a living by blaming everything Cowboys on Jerry Jones, but he lays the blame for the Cowboys slipping through Dallas' fingers on the right doorstep. He also accurately points out that it isn't the first time Dallas has lost the battle to keep the 'Boys. They lost them to Irving the first time. Says Randy,

In Dallas, they blame Jones for their failure. Lord knows, I understand the
sentiment. I've made a decent living over the years by blaming Jones for all
things Cowboy.
But four decades ago, different city leaders in Dallas and a
different owner of the Cowboys also disagreed over a new stadium issue. The late
Clint Murchison heard laughs when he said he'd move the team out of the city.
There was no laughing in 1971. That's when Texas Stadium opened in Irving.
But now it's a CYB mentality in Dallas. Cover Your Butt. Blame Jones. And
blame Arlington city leaders for caving in to Jones. Right, Laura Miller.

So, Randy got it right. I guess if you throw enough crap against the wall, something has to stick, right? Check out his full article here.

How You Like 'im Now, 'sheed?

Anybody remember Rasheed Wallace's answer to who should be the league MVP, Nash or Dirk?
He said, "Neither." He contended that the MVP should be someone who plays defense and then asserted that neither Nash nor Nowitzki do.

He was half right. Nash doesn't. Never has. But Nowitzki does...at least now he does. Is he a stopper? Everybody knows better than that. But he works on both ends of the court. And today he worked Rasheed's Pistons for 28 points while leading his Mavs to a 92-88 victory.

Who is the MVP? Nash? Maybe. You could sure argue that the Suns would be nowhere without him. Dirk? I hope so. He has played lights-out all year on the NBA's best team.

I do have an idea who it isn't.

That would be Rasheed.

Eric Neel is an Idiot!

In his article titled Mavs Just Can't Win My Love, he spewed his elitest, east coast media foulness, claiming there just isn't much to love about this season's hottest NBA team. Among other things, he writes:

The other day a friend said to me, "Hey, check out the Mavs," as if they were
underdogs on a little hot streak, as if they were a penny on the sidewalk or a
roadside attraction spotted through a car window, as if they weren't actually
running roughshod over the league night in and night out. We should be trained
on them, geeked, obsessed, awed, but we aren't. The Suns -- Steve's boys, the
fuel-injected fun ball gang, a brotherhood forged in dedication to a philosophy,
a dream -- are captivating. The Pistons -- a gangly, tough, scrap-heap
collective straight out of "Kelly's Heroes," a bunch, even with a title in the
bag, who are absolutely certain you don't believe in them -- inspire. The Mavs
don't compete historically and they don't compete now.

Don't compete? Give me a stinking break. They competed last year didn't they? Or was that Phoenix I saw in the Finals? They're competing this year, aren't they? Under the careful guidance of Avery Johnson, these Mavs compete every time they step on the court (unless it's against Nelly's Warriors Go figure.)

Neel accurately blames Cuban for the Mavs hating he and others like him throw out there. But then he mistakenly tosses Nowitzki - who ought to be this year's MVP, hands down - under the bus:

And even if I look past Cuban, all I see is Nowitzki. Which means all I see is
accurate, somewhat wooden jump shots and hard-to-guard head-fake finishes. The
guy is a superstar, probably the league MVP given what the team is doing. He
gets banged on nightly and he wears the mantle of being The Man with seeming
ease and determination. He's a fantastic player. I admire the hell out of him.
But he's also, I'm sorry, boring to watch. No signature move. No defining moment
(as of yet). No edge, no magic. Think of him next to the other top-tier players
in the league right now. Play word association. Nash is Miraculous, Wade is
Relentless, James is Terrifying, Arenas is Nutty and Garnett is Fierce. Nowitzki
is, I don't know, Proficient?

Boring? If this guy finds Nowitzki boring, he should have his license to watch, let alone comment on, the NBA revoked. No magic? No edge? Here's a guy who has elevated his game in every way over the past couple seasons. A seven-footer who rains threes and plays the post. He even plays defense, unlike everyone's darling, Steve Nash.

This guy has to just be going for shock value, right? He has to be shaking the tree to see how many Mavs fans fall out onto his boney head. Well, fall, people! Fall and claw.

Here is a link to the full article.